1,001 NIGHTS
by Jocemum
Summary: Captured by Death Eaters, Hermione attempts to save herself through the use of an old magic.


**A/N: Another one of those plot bunnies that attack in the wee hours of the morning gave me the inspiration for this story. Thanks to Jocelyn, for exploring the idea of storytelling magic with me.**

**1,001 NIGHTS**

The room was in half darkness, dimly lit by sconces in the deep recesses that only served to lengthen the shadows that concealed so much around her. Hermione was vaguely aware of figures, standing shrouded, unmoving, unspeaking, like wraiths on the edges of her vision. She remained where she'd been dropped, the stone cold against her bare arms and legs. An even colder stab of fear slid into her, and she shivered, as one of the shadowing figures detached itself from the darkness and moved forward.

Things had been so very quiet for the past year. Seventh year had come and gone; neither side moving against the other. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had continued their search for, and subsequent destruction of, the Horcruxes, and still nothing happened. That Voldemort and his minions were preparing for an attack of some sort was evident to the Order, but with Snape gone, they no longer had an inside source to give warning. Hermione had decided to risk going to London. Unwilling to argue with the others for permission, she left without telling anyone but Ginny. She spent the night at the safe house where her parents were hidden, and left early in the morning to return to Hogwarts. She'd chanced a quick stop at Flourish and Blott's in Diagon Alley, eager to pick up a book she'd had on order for several weeks, feeling certain that she could be in and gone before anyone would even know she'd been there.

The initial barrage of curses from the Death Eater attack blew in the front window of the store, and Hermione, standing at the counter waiting to pay for her book, was knocked unconscious immediately. Waking to find herself in a barred cell, she faced the realization that she'd been taken prisoner without even a chance to fight back. There was no way to tell how long she'd been in the dark cell, hours or days, perhaps, and no way of knowing if anyone in the Order had any idea that she'd been captured.

Sounds came from out in the corridor, and Hermione shrank against the wall, staring at the barred expanse that fronted the cell. Three Death Eaters moved silently into place, one producing a wand and swinging open the grating with a muttered incantation. He gestured in her direction.

"Bring her."

Whoever he was, he didn't wait to see the results of his command, and her view of his exit was blocked by the two who advanced on her. She started to struggle instinctively, but they soon had her arms twisted behind her painfully, and she was forced to stumble along with them as they pulled her out of the cell. Afraid to speak, she remained as silent as her guards, through what appeared to be a long tunnel, and then up a short flight of stairs.

Now she lay on the ground, staring around her and then recoiling in fear, as the less-than-human figure of Lord Voldemort advanced upon her. He stared down at her, then walked past to seat himself upon a throne-like chair behind her. Slowly, she moved herself so that she was facing him, and took the chance of coming up on her knees.

"Severus, do you know this girl?" His words hissed out, the sound of his voice in perfect harmony with the snakelike features of his face.

Another figure detached itself from the shadows, looming over her, regarding her with a smirk on his face. Hermione flinched, involuntarily. She had not seen Snape since the night of Dumbledore's death, and he seemed completely unchanged.

"A Gryffindor Mudblood, my lord, and a close friend of Harry Potter."

"Indeed? Is she likely to know anything of Potter's plans, or of potential Order actions?" Voldemort had turned his head slightly, eying her with a good deal of interest.

"Unlikely, my lord. She is not an important member of the Order, and most of them consider her value to rest in her friendship with Potter. She is protected, so that no harm comes to her that could cause distress to the 'Chosen One.'" Snape dismissed her with a shrug. "Merely having taken her will strike a blow against him. Of herself, she is worth little."

"Well then, little Gryffindor. What shall I do with you?" Hermione shivered again as Voldemort's eyes traveled over her. "One Mudblood does not a revel make, don't you agree, Severus?"

Snape gave a dry chuckle, and the sound was echoed from the shadows. Hermione grimaced. Apparently, if their Lord made a witticism, no matter how pathetic, the Death Eaters would respond appropriately.

"Still…" Voldemort continued, "I would like to be entertained, even for a short while before we kill her. Perhaps the Mudblood herself could come up with an idea."

Hermione stared at him in horror, unable to fathom what she was supposed to say. The silence stretched, and then a clout on the side of her head knocked her off balance.

"The Dark Lord is waiting, Miss Granger. I would recommend that you come up with a suggestion." Snape's action set off a round of laughter from the other Death Eaters.

"Do you, perhaps, dance… sing?" Voldemort gave off a sound, a strange choking hiss. It took a moment for Hermione to realize that he was laughing at her. When she shook her head, the sound stopped. "I grow impatient, Mudblood."

She swallowed hard, aware that if she stood any chance of gaining control of her situation, she had better come up with an answer. It might be possible… there was one gamble she might take… if they didn't realize what she was up to. She hastily Occluded her mind. Having realized after Dumbledore's death the very real possibility that Occlumency might be useful to her as well as Harry, she'd applied herself, and was able to master it. Now keeping her thoughts carefully blank, she took a deep breath and plunged in.

"I… I could tell a story." She heard a snort from Snape, but Voldemort leaned forward, appearing intrigued.

"A story… what a unique idea." He pulled out his wand, and a small, tapestry-covered footstool appeared at his feet. "Sit here, and tell me your story."

Hermione rose, walked over to the footstool, and reluctantly took a seat. Voldemort reached down and allowed his fingers to caress her hair. She remained frozen, hating every second of his touch. His fingers wound through her curls, then with a snarl, he tightened his fist in her hair, pulling her head back, and forcing her to look up at him.

"And when I grow tired of your story, little Mudblood, I shall tear out your throat so that you never tell another one." He released her hair, and she blinked back the tears that were threatening. "Now begin."

She took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm, preparing herself. _There is more than one way to fight. _Her substantial memory of books, Muggle and magical, whispered in the back of her mind. She began…

"_Long ago, in the land that would one day be known as England, there lived a boy. Not an ordinary sort of boy, but one who had been different from the people around him for as long as he could remember. Not different in appearance… no, for he had hair, and two eyes, and a mouth that could speak, and the requisite number of limbs as any other boy. He was not taller, faster, nor stronger than the other boys around him. It was not any of these that set him apart. It was this alone. The boy could speak to the wild things around him, being possessed of a strange gift of tongues."_

Snape listened, fascinated. How did the girl learn to speak this way? When did she acquire this ability to mesmerize with the sound of her voice, to use tone and nuance and expression, to weave a tale with such power to captivate? A number of Death Eaters in the room had begun to lean forward.

She wound the story about them, describing the boy, his strange talent, the use he made of his gift, and the dangers he faced from a populace that could not understand or accept his difference. Time went by, and Voldemort made no move to interrupt her. In fact, he seemed almost entranced. It was now or never; Hermione had one chance to take.

"_The wood was heaped around him, and he was bound securely, painfully, to the stake in the center of the heap. The village elder came forward, and behind him, the village priest, arrogant in his ignorance, carrying a flaming torch._

"_Evil, such as this that possesses you, can be snuffed out in only one way. We shall burn it away, and scatter the ash to the four winds, that this darkness may be removed from us forever." The priest lowered the torch, and touched it to the wood at his feet._

"**_Wait!"_**

Hermione had cried out that last word, and heard the gasps of breath being sucked in around her. She folded her hands in her lap, and waited.

"Why do you stop, Mudblood? Continue!" Voldemort commanded her.

"Not just yet. First… a bargain," Hermione countered.

"A bargain? You overstep your bounds, little Mudblood. What do you dare to ask for?"

"Another day of life," Hermione answered him. "Let me live until tomorrow, and I shall continue the tale then."

"I will kill you now if you do not continue as I have commanded you." Voldemort hissed.

Hermione tightened her hands, so that they wouldn't tremble. "Then the story is lost forever."

He stood up quickly, and with a swift kick, sent her flying off the stool, and onto the floor. Hermione curled up, face down, and waited. One long minute ticked by, and then he spoke.

"Severus, she is your responsibility. Take her, do what you will with her, but see that she is returned here tomorrow evening." Hermione raised her eyes, just enough to see him. He regarded her furiously, his red eyes glaring at her. "You have one more night to live, Mudblood; enjoy it!"

Snape was hauling her up by one arm, and he wasted no time in pulling her out of the room. Almost faster than she could keep up, he dragged her down another hallway, and another, and yet another, and finally through a doorway. He slammed the door behind them, sealed the wards around it, cast a Silencing Charm, then pushed her down into the nearest chair.

"Whatever possessed you, Granger? Attempting to bargain with the Dark Lord? Have you gone quite mad?" Snape was pacing back and forth, his robes billowing behind him. "Whatever made you think that he would agree to such a thing?"

" 'A Thousand and One Nights.'" Hermione answered. "And I suppose that since he planned to kill me tonight anyway, I had every reason to try and bargain."

"What are you talking about," he snarled at her. "I asked you a question."

"And I answered it!" Hermione snapped back. "It's a Muggle book, and… and, come to think of it, why should I even speak to you? You turned your back on the Order, you killed Dumbledore, you betrayed…"

In one move, he had her out of the chair and pulled upright, his face mere centimeters from hers, the grip on her arms painful. "Do not presume, Miss Granger! I do not answer to you! And perhaps you should keep in mind, that I have the Dark Lord's permission to do with you what I wish for tonight."

Hermione blanched. She'd forgotten Voldemort's instructions to Snape. No longer able to bear the intensity of his gaze, she dropped her eyes.

"I… I'm sorry, Professor."

He released her, and she sank back down into the chair. He did not move away, and Hermione was acutely aware of him, standing so close that the edges of his robes brushed her legs.

"Do not call me that." He moved away. "Are you hungry?"

"I don't think that I could eat anything," she replied.

"I suggest that you do, and that you sleep. Tomorrow, you must prepare yourself to continue the story, and be ready to bargain with the devil for another day… Scheherazade."

Hermione stared at him in astonishment. "You mean you know the story?"

"I am not completely ignorant of Muggle literature." He nodded his head, giving her a look of approval. "Nor the old magic that inspired it. You are even more intelligent and capable than I had ever imagined, Miss Granger. Storytelling magic is an art all but lost in modern wizardry, and I know for a fact it is not taught in your history class by Professor Binns."

She stared at him, frightened at first. If he revealed what she'd done, and Voldemort and the others realized how it was that some Muggleborn had managed to draw them in with something as simple as a story, it was all over. But to her surprise and intense relief, he said nothing about reporting it to the Death Eaters.

"How did you know?" she whispered, once her voice came back.

"Like yourself, I take an interest in the study of magic outside of that taught in the classroom, particularly of the obscure and forgotten methods," he said matter-of-factly. "You need not fear; storytelling magic is not an aggressive tactic that the Dark Lord or his followers would find of use – even if they have seen it referenced, they will not have studied it. It is highly unlikely that they will recognize your use of it." He actually smiled, a thin, respectful curve of his lips. "I had forgotten how interesting her stories were upon their own merits, but they are compelling beyond reason with the teller's magic applied, as you have done. Your gambit might even succeed, just as your heroine's did… for a while."

It was one of the stranger nights of her life, Hermione decided. Sitting across from Snape, engaging in conversation with the man she believed to be a traitor and a murderer, and she was thoroughly enjoying herself. He had a dry sense of humor, and a wry smile that changed the features of his face. It wasn't until later, as she was yawning and trying to stay awake, that she finally summoned up the courage to ask him.

"Will you tell me why?"

He made no pretense of misunderstanding, but narrowed his eyes at her briefly. "How long have you practiced Occlumency, Granger?"

"Several hours a day at first. Remus Lupin said I had it," she said, and met his gaze challengingly.

He stared into her face, and evidently couldn't read her thoughts, for he relented. "I did what had to be done."

Hermione sighed. "Did you truly hate him so much?"

It was his turn to stare at her in astonishment. "Albus Dumbledore was my greatest friend. If there had been any other way… I mourn him."

"Then _why_ did you have to kill him?"

"That should be obvious. Because he required it of me."

She was still watching his face. "He required it of you… **_he_** required it. Not Vol… Dumbledore asked you to do it." Snape's face had drained of all color. "That's it, isn't it?"

He stood up and pulled out his wand. "I shall Obliviate you, Miss Granger. Such knowledge is a danger to both of us."

"No, don't… _please._ He thinks I am nothing. It's unlikely that I would be questioned. And I want to go on believing in you. Please."

She held her breath until he sheathed his wand. "Be aware, Miss Granger, that if he does break through your barriers, I shall kill you first."

Hermione nodded. "I understand."

"Follow me." Snape led the way through another door, into a small adjoining space. The room contained nothing but a small bureau and a bed, up against the opposite wall. He motioned towards the bed. "We sleep in here."

Hermione sputtered, and took a step backward. "**_We?_** Isn't there somewhere else that I can…?"

"You will find that these rooms become exceedingly cold before the night is over. It is a merely a matter of keeping warm."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so. I'll sleep in the chair."

"As you wish." She left the room quickly, almost running to the chair, and curling up with a shiver. Did he really think that she would just climb in bed with him? There was no quilt or throw that she could drape over herself, and she tried her best to cover her legs with her skirt. She heard the creak of the bed from the other room, followed by silence. It seemed that Snape had retired for the night.

He hadn't lied to her. The room grew colder as the night went on. No matter how she tried to curl up, some area of skin ended up exposed, and soon she was shaking, her teeth chattering. There was no way of telling how much time was passing, but she was becoming more and more miserable. Another effort to change her position, and she fell out of the chair completely, with a solid _thump. _She was attempting to get up, moaning against the stiffness of her arms and legs, when the adjoining door flew open.

He said nothing, coming directly to her and picking her up. His body felt warm, and Hermione couldn't help herself. She turned into him, burrowing up against him, shivering. Carrying her into the bedroom, he deposited her in the bed, and slid in beside her, pulling the quilts up over both their shoulders. Unable to stop shaking, she was aware of him wrapping his arms and legs over her. The warmth of the bed and the heat from his body, slowly eased her cold pained joints. He didn't move, and she made no attempt to draw away from him. Her eyes seemed to be closing in spite of herself. She mumbled her thanks against his chest.

He answered her softly. "Go to sleep, Scheherazade."

1111111

She continued her story, and survived the next evening. And then the next. Each day was spent creating the story for that evening, and tightening the grip of a magical web upon the minds of the listeners. It wouldn't protect her if Voldemort made up his mind to kill her or give her any real influence over anyone… beyond the story. The intense, enraptured desire to know the story. That was the storyteller's magic, the one weapon she had at her disposal each night.

Each night, she half-expected it to be her last. Still, the next evening would find her ensconced on the tapestry footstool, with Voldemort listening to her with rapt attention. His Death Eaters were allowed to listen as well, and as a sign of special favor, one or another would be granted the right to come out of the shadows and take a seat near her.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. There were no more bargaining sessions. She would come to the end of the evening's tale, and fold her hands. Voldemort would immediately instruct Severus to take her away and return her the following evening.

Her nights were spent in the little bedroom, curled up with Severus. What had begun as a desperate need for warmth, had evolved into a desperate need for each other. There was only a moment's hesitation on either of their parts, the first time he reached for her. After the first night they were together, neither one ever hesitated again.

Hermione feared as much for his life now as her own, for as time passed, it seemed less likely that either of them would ever emerge alive from Voldemort's lair. Though he would tell her nothing, Hermione was certain that he was again in contact with the Order's forces, and that he was giving them information. It was his relationship with her, and his desire to assure her safety, that had convinced him to renew his work as a spy.

He was quiet that night, making love to her with an intensity unusual even for him. Afterwards, he held her, refusing to let her turn away from him. Finally, she took his face in her hands, and forced him to meet her eyes.

"What is it?"

He took her hands and brought her fingers to his lips, but gave her no answer.

"Severus, I'm not a fool. This is the end, isn't it? Something's going to happen tomorrow."

He kept her hands, keeping them pressed against his face. "The Order is coming in. They're bringing the final battle here, while…" he paused.

"While I'm telling the tale," she finished for him.

"Hermione." He pulled her to him. "As soon as the attack begins, throw yourself to the floor, and crawl away. Get as far from the Dark Lord as you can. I will try to protect you."

"Protect yourself. Both sides will be after you. _Please_," Hermione begged him. "Stay alive… for me."

He gave her no answer, just buried his face in her shoulder. She pressed her lips to his hair, and slowly, they began to move against each other again, letting the rush of feeling momentarily subdue their fears. In the aftermath, they held on to each other, falling at last into fitful sleep.

Morning came all too soon. When she opened her eyes, Severus was standing at the bedside, fully dressed. She sat up, panic rushing through her. Recognizing the look on her face, Snape hastened to reassure her.

"I have duties to the Dark Lord; it will appear amiss if I do not keep my normal schedule. Nothing will happen before this evening. In the meantime, work on your tale," he instructed.

And she did, revising it again and again, pacing through the small rooms, changing her tone, her gestures, the soft, subtle whispers of magic among the words, determined that this tale would keep all eyes and ears on her, until the end came. When Severus returned, she sat down at the table with him, unable to take a bite, but determined to remain calm at all costs.

"The Dark Lord requires you to attend him." He did not kiss or touch her, and she understood. What was between them was in the past; only if they survived could there be a future for them. Pausing at the door, he turned, her wand held out. She nodded, slipped it into her sleeve, and followed him out, taking the same direction as a hundred nights before.

Voldemort was sitting on his throne, the serpent, Nagini, curled up at his feet. As a result, her footstool had been moved some distance from him. She took her seat, hands in her lap, and waited for his permission to speak. He seemed to reflect for a moment, then gestured towards those waiting in the shadows.

"Wormtail, the information you brought me today has pleased me. You may sit at my feet for the duration of the tale." Pettigrew scurried forward, settling himself next to Nagini and leering at Hermione. She stifled a shudder, keeping her focus on Voldemort, like an obedient acolyte waiting for the start of a ritual. The Dark Lord nodded to her, and she began to speak.

"_The storm that swept down out of the mountains brought fire, and wind, and great devastation. This was no ordinary turn of weather, no event that came from benevolent nature. This was horror and distress in its most violent form, and its purpose… to prevent the great one from freeing those who were enslaved." _

"_Never before had a single wizard chosen to stand alone in defiance of the powers of the gods themselves. Arrogance, perhaps… desperation, indeed quite probable… but there was more than even this. The hand of destiny, the machinations of fate, the blessings of all that existed in this world… these were the workings that drove the man, that supported his determination, that sent him, as more than a weapon, in response to the cries of his people!"_

Snape watched the Death Eaters around her, more than he watched Hermione, gauging their interest, the extent of their enthrallment. No one moved, and all eyes were on the woman weaving the spell in the center of the room. Stepping back into deeper shadow, Snape pulled his wand and cast the final incantation that lowered the wards throughout Voldemort's stronghold.

"_And the bolt of lightning lashed out of the skies, racing towards the great one at speeds beyond the comprehension of human sight, and still he did not quail. Wearing the gloves that the goddess had given him in exchange for the kiss, he grasped the bolt and launched himself upon it, and he **rode…**!"_

Hermione had sprung to her feet, one graceful arm slashing through the air, her gestures enhancing the cadence of her tale. As she cried out the last word, there was an explosion of sound around her, Aurors and Order members materializing in the room. There was a second of disbelief, and then the Death Eaters responded, and the battle began in earnest.

Hermione threw herself to the ground and made an attempt to crawl away, only to be stopped by a grip like iron around her ankle. Pettigrew held her back, his cruel, rat like visage focused on her, his wand aimed directly at her heart. Suddenly, the sconces around the room flared into brilliance at the barked command of an unseen Auror, and the extent of the battle in the room became evident. Someone fighting nearby yelled out a curse and a bolt of blue light impacted just above Pettigrew's head. He swore, and rolled away, and Hermione crawled into a small niche in the wall. Pausing only to catch her breath, she came to her feet, wand out and ready, and prepared to join the fight.

There was a scream of rage from Voldemort somewhere in the room, and a cry of "Potter!" Near her, something uncoiled silently. As if in response to an unspoken command, Nagini was moving to her master's aid. And realization hit Hermione. They'd never found the last Horcrux, and the speculation had been that the serpent herself might be what they sought. With a quick glance around, Hermione stepped away from her shelter and sent a curse slamming into the back of the immense snake.

Nagini shuddered and rolled, and came back up, facing Hermione. The snake was moving towards her, and much faster than she'd have expected the injured reptile to move. Bringing her wand to bear, she fired off another direct hit, only to be thrown aside herself by a slicing hex that impacted her left shoulder.

The pain was like nothing she'd ever endured, and her left arm hung limp and useless. She knew she was losing a lot of blood, but that knowledge became secondary to the fact that Nagini was again bearing down on her, and seemingly undeterred by injuries. Hermione went to her knees, her legs suddenly too weak to support her. She let her head fall to her chest momentarily, and the snake quickened her pace. Closer, ever closer, as Hermione gasped against the pain and weakness. Sensing the chance to kill, the snake bore down on her, opening jaws exhibiting monstrous fangs. In that last moment, before Nagini could strike, Hermione's right hand came up, literally jabbing her wand into the snake's throat, and sending the curse the length of the snake's body. Nagini slumped at her feet, Hermione slid away from the creature, and then allowed herself to collapse. A flare of bright green light was the last thing of which she was conscious.

1111111

Judging from the light outside, it had to be early morning, and Hermione turned her head away. A dull ache in her left arm and shoulder served as a reminder of what had taken place, and she looked around for someone, anyone to tell her what had happened. An exhausted-looking Remus Lupin was standing over a bed nearby, his face dirty and his robe torn. At Hermione's call, he turned and made his way to her bedside. Seating himself on the edge of her bed, he gave her a wan smile.

"You're looking much better. Madam Pomfrey swore she had to use over half her supply of Blood Replenishing Potion just to replace what you lost."

"I feel better, Remus, but I don't know what has happened… in the last several months and in the battle. Please..." Hermione begged, "Tell me."

"We looked through the wreckage of Diagon Alley for any sign of what happened to you, but there was nothing. You weren't among the bodies, so we assumed you'd been captured." Remus shook his head. "It was difficult… for everybody. We waited for something… a demand for an exchange, your body dumped somewhere to be found, but nothing. We were at a loss, and then…" he grinned at her, "I was jumped in Hogsmeade by a certain former professor."

"Severus went to _you_?" Hermione asked.

"Surprising, isn't it, considering how much he disliked me. But he knew that I wouldn't kill him, at least, not without hearing him out first. He told us everything."

"Did the Order accept it?"

"Not at first, but we were hard pressed. Voldemort had our backs against the wall, and we had no choice but to go with Severus. It was his information that began to turn things around."

"And the battle, Remus. Tell me about the battle."

"Well, forces were pretty equal, and we had the element of surprise. But Harry wasn't holding up against Voldemort. He'd been hit twice, and we were afraid… but then, out of the blue, Voldemort staggered, and appeared to visibly weaken. Harry took him out with his next curse. He hit him with Avada Kedavra, and the majority of the people in the lair were knocked off their feet."

"And Harry… is he all right? And Ron… and…?"

Remus laughed and held up his hands. "Yes, and yes. Going into a closed situation like that, a building held by the enemy, I mean, we attacked with Aurors and Order members only, except for Harry and Ron. So, your friends have survived, and the actual death toll was fairly low. Most of the Death Eaters surrendered immediately upon Voldemort's death."

"And Severus… what happened to Severus?" She couldn't keep the tremble out of her voice.

"He's over there, and recovering nicely. When he's awake, he asks after you constantly, until Madam Pomfrey gets exasperated, and puts him out again." Remus spoke carefully. "You and Severus… care to tell me about that?"

"He told me what happened with Dumbledore, and I believed him. I was placed in his care by Voldemort, and Severus kept the other Death Eaters away from me. He's a good man, Remus, and kind, and witty, and intelligent, and I… I love him."

Remus nodded. "He'll be happy to hear that. Come on. I'm going to take you over there." Gently, he assisted her to rise, and kept a steadying hand around her until they came to the bed where Severus slept. Remus settled her in a chair, then drew the curtains around them. "I don't think you'll be needing me, Hermione."

She hardly noticed when he left. The man in the bed commanded all her attention, and she reached over and took his hand. He stirred, then, and opened his eyes. A look of satisfaction crossed his face, when he saw her sitting beside him. He started to speak, then coughed, his voice finally emerging as a whisper. "Scheherazade."

"In person." She helped him to take a sip of water. "Are you all right?"

"Back-breaking Hex. I will not be moving much for the next several days." He gave her that slightly wry smile that she'd come to love. "I thought I told you to crawl away."

"I did," Hermione laughed. "Only Nagini was crawling around down there, too."

Severus looked at her, seriously, and her laughter died. "I didn't expect to survive this, Hermione, and truthfully, I wasn't sure that you would, either."

"I know," she answered. "I knew what you were thinking."

"So, now that the unexpected has happened, I have a question I'd like to ask you."

She caught her breath. "All right. Ask the question."

He smiled again. "How does the story end?"

Her eyes flew wide open. "Why… you…" she sputtered. He laughed outright, and caught her hand as she tried to pull away.

"Hermione, I'm willing to spend as many nights with you as necessary to find out." His eyes were very black, and the look in them made her catch her breath again. "A thousand and one?"

She leaned down to kiss him. "At the very least, Severus. At the very least."

THE END

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